


On Talking To Plants

by DisasterBiAlert



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Communication, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I just want them to be happy, Idiots in Love, King is a Worrier™️, Kissing, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Plants, Post-Canon, Ram is the SOFTEST BOY DON’T @ ME, Soft boys being soft, Some Botany?, Swearing, but only a lil - Freeform, wholesome sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24802114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterBiAlert/pseuds/DisasterBiAlert
Summary: King gets it now, even more than he used to: communication with humans is hard. Why couldn’t people just be plants and not gorgeous Cool Boys with puppy eyes?Or, King returns to the condo after a week of definitely-not-hiding and finds Ram talking to his plants. Communication (of a sort), a wee bit of angst, and fluff ensues.Post-S1 Finale.
Relationships: King/Ram (My Engineer)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 284





	On Talking To Plants

‘You can do this,’ King whispers to himself. He’s in the corridor. Up ahead is the door to his condo. On the other side of that door is—  _ Can’t think about that yet _ . King tries to take calming breaths. 

It’s been a week since the camp and the tent and the  _ thing  _ and the  _ text _ . Translation: King’s been hiding at his grandmother’s for seven days and hasn’t had any contact with Ram. Since he— 

Whatever. He’s finally  ~~ mustered enough courage ~~ missing his plants enough to return to his condo. King examines the stretch of corridor before him. His heart should probably be in his chest and not his mouth, right?  _ Not off to a great start but that’s ok! I can do this!  _ King’s not exactly sure when he got so used to lying to himself, though he has a sneaking suspicion it coincides with his friendship ( _ doing it again damn it! See: obsession _ ) with a certain tattooed, goddamn dog-enthusiast junior. He squares his shoulders and adjusts his grip on his bag.  _Get a grip_! 

He walks to his door and is reaching in his pocket for his keys when he hears a voice on the other side. It’s a little muffled through the wood, but the voice is close enough that he can make out most of the words. It’s a voice he recognises without thought which, considering just how rare it is to hear that voice at all, is a little astounding.

‘You’ve all been so good. And you, you’ve grown. He’s going to be so proud of you.’

King freezes. Ram is talking but there are no answering voices. Ram is just on the other side of King’s front door. The only things at King’s door are— 

The realisation runs up his spine like lightning. Ram is talking to the plants at his front door. Ram is  _ talking _ . To King’s  _ plants _ . King gets absolutely no chance to recover (his breath, his sanity, his  _ heart _ ) as Ram continues.

‘Here you go, not thirsty any more, hm? Oh, and look at you, you’re flowering. What a lovely surprise for him to come home to.’

King can  hear  Ram’s smile and his knees go positively  weak . As quietly as he can, King places his bag on the ground and sinks to the floor, leaning back against his front door. A sudden surge of bravery tingles in his fingers. He pulls out his phone and sends the messages before the courage wears off.

[5:33pm]  Hey Cool Boy. I’m outside the door. 

[5:33pm] Not sure I can come in yet.

Ram’s voice stops and King misses it immediately. He hears Ram’s footsteps retreating further into the apartment. There’s a brief moment of silence before the footsteps return and stop right at the door. King is momentarily terrified Ram will open the door and then he and all his emotions will tumble through. Instead he hears the distinct sound of a body sliding to the floor on the other side. King briefly imagines what they’d look like from the side if there was no wall: two men ( _boys, let’s be honest_ ) , hearts hammering, separated only by a door and the ocean of things they don’t say.  _ Can’t say. Won’t say. Have to— _

‘Hello P’King,’ Ram says through the door. 

And what a total one-eighty this is: Cool Boy talking, King messaging. King almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. He also kind of wants to cry. It’s a lot to process.

[5:34pm] Thank you.

King hears the buzz of his message on Ram’s phone. It’s mildly disconcerting.

There’s a pause, and King  almost  wants to die, then, ‘How is your grandmother?’

King breathes out a symphony of relief. This is safe. This he can do. He tries to ignore the warmth slowly spreading through his chest at discussing something as domestic, as normal, as  familiar as family with Ram. He can’t help the small smile as he types though.

[5:34pm]  She’s well. We spent a lot of time in her kitchen—she’s a very zealous cook. She was also convinced I’d been starving myself because of my “beanpole frame”.

King  feels the rumble of Ram’s laugh through the door. He’s not quite sure he’s ever actually heard Ram laugh before. It’s utterly thrilling. It sends a wild, sparking heat swooping through his body. Out of habit, he quickly presses down on the feeling until all that’s left is a hollow ache that tastes a little ( a lot ) like guilt. He sighs. And that’s why he’s here, isn’t it? That’s why he’s sitting like a goddamn  coward on his own doorstep, unable or unwilling (or both) to walk into his own condo and have this conversation like a  _normal_ person.  And that’s another thing—what  _ is _ this conversation? How do you ask someone for forgiveness when you can’t even forgive yourself? More than that: how can you allow yourself to put the burden of your own selfish feelings onto someone, someone you’re supposed to look out for, someone you took advantage of when you should’ve been taking care of them, someone you are in lo—

King squeezes his eyes shut and takes a steadying breath through his nose.  _ Where do I even begin? _

He glances to Ram’s last message, waiting at the top of their chat, not yet surpassed by King’s one-sided conversation.  _ I wasn’t drunk last night _ . And Ram is still waiting. How long will he wait?

King is tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of the unknown. Tired of hiding. Tired of hurting. What’s one more hurt?

[5:36pm]  Why did you lie Cool Boy?

King sends it before he can chicken out but then immediately wishes he hadn’t. Because, seriously, what the hell. He knows how he would respond if the roles were reversed. _Why did_ I _l ie? Why did _you _? How dare you, you selfish, predatory bastard—_

‘Forgive me, P’King.’ Ram says softly and King’s heart  _ stops _ . Of all the things to pass through the door and straight into King’s core,  Ram apologising  is not even in the near vicinity of possibilities. Ram thinks that  _ he  _ needs forgiveness from  _ King _ ? In what parallel universe? In what alternate timeline?  But Ram is still talking and King grows more and more astounded by his words. 

‘It’s my fault. You were very drunk and I should never have taken advantage of you like that. I thought—’ He cuts himself off and King has the sudden memory of another time Ram was speaking and cut himself off.  _ I like P’King / I like— _

Unaware of King’s rapidly spiralling meltdown, Ram continues. ‘No, it doesn’t matter what I thought. When you asked me the next morning, I was waiting to see what you would remember when I should have just apologised.’

King shoots back immediately; panic fluttering in his chest, shame twisting in his gut.

[5:37pm]  What? No. Cool Boy. You didn’t take advantage of me,  I took advantage of  you ! I’m the one who should be apologising!

Silence, then, ‘P’King, do you remember everything?’

And what the hell does  that mean? “Everything”? King only kissed him, didn’t he? Clumsily, brash, and stupidly,  embarrassingly drunk, yes, but just a kiss. Right? Unless…  _ Shit _ , King thinks,  _ what did I  _ _do_?

Ram seems to guess his train of thought.  _ Huh, even without actually seeing we really do read each other well— Stop _ . ‘No, nothing like that P’King. It’s ok. I meant do you remember me. Returning. The kiss.’

And suddenly,  _ holy shit  _ _yes_ , yes he does remember. He remembers  _everything_.

 _ The searing pain in his chest as he lurches forward, hand gripping the back of Ram’s neck like his life depends on it. And in a way it kind of does, doesn’t it? The steel tension in his jaw about to crack him in two, his lips a hard, bruising line against Ram’s. The fear, the overwhelming fear burying him like an avalanche. The constant thundering tattoo pounding in his head of  _ this is wrong this is wrong stop stop stop _ , and wanting to cry because of how  _ good _ it felt, how  _ right _ it felt, how he  _ never wanted it to end _ and how much that fucking  _ hurt _. He breathes in Ram, breathes in that intoxicating mix of vetiver, sandalwood, and just the barest hint of jasmine. Knows he’s running out of time, that any moment his whole world is going to come crumbling down around him, and Ram is going to push him away, those expressive eyes filled with contempt. King feels the whimper build in his chest. And then— Softness. A cool hand sliding along his cheek, soothing the burning skin, cupping his jaw. Tentative fingers in the tendrils of hair at the base of his neck. Sweet lips pressing back against his.  _ Pressing back _. An eternity: of desperation, of  _ _please_ please _ , of want. Then breath returns and space splits between them. Ram’s forehead rests against his. The light caress of his thumb on King’s cheek almost brings him to tears. King waits for the inevitable—the rejection, the disgust, the anger, the betrayal, the  _ hurt, hurt, hurt _ —but it never comes. Instead, a dream, a vision, a gift. Another kiss. Ram tilting his head and connecting their lips and tenderness rolling through King like clouds across the sky. King is underwater and in space at the same time; floating and timeless. The whole world could be on fire or about to wink out of existence and King wouldn’t even blink. Because Ram is kissing him and his whole heart is about to burst. Ram is kissing him. Ram is kissing him. That must mean Ram feels— _

‘Oh,’ King says to the empty corridor. And that’s all it takes.

He rises to his feet, trembling but more certain than he’s been in a long time. And then, exactly as he’d feared, his front door is opening and King and all his feelings are tumbling through. 

Ram catches him. As he always does. King should’ve known there was nothing to be afraid of. He sighs into the embrace, ignoring the still very open door and his bag waiting at the doorstep. He allows himself to sink deeper into Ram’s arms, his face buried in Ram’s shoulder, arms tight around Ram’s waist. He breathes in that rich, clear sky smell of him, of vetiver and sandalwood and... tea tree? King pulls back and Ram let’s him but doesn’t fully release him from the circle of his arms. King doesn’t mind a bit. 

He flicks his eyes over Ram’s face, who weathers his gaze calmly. 

‘Tea tree?’ King asks. He realises it’s the first thing he’s actually said to Ram in seven days, but doesn’t get the chance to be embarrassed. Ram slides one arm from around King and holds up his hand, revealing a bandaid on his thumb. King takes his hand and glances at Ram for permission. The other man tilts his head and King is a little startled, not only at how it makes Ram look very much like a puppy, but how that idea makes him want to  laugh instead of  run . He returns his attention to Ram’s hand in his and, very slowly, so that Ram can stop him at any time, King leans down and presses the barest kiss to the bandaid. 

Ram looks at him like a  _ helianthus _ looks at the sun. King wants to burn the image into his soul so that even after both their bodies are long gone, somewhere in the universe, made up of infinite light particles and stardust, that look will remain. 

Ram recovers first. He leads King into his own condo and sits him on the couch. He fetches King’s bag and closes the door. Dropping King’s bag at his bedroom, the younger man heads to the small dining table and the purple watering can, which is usually on the kitchen windowsill, sitting atop it. 

At King’s quirked brow, Ram raises the watering can and points towards the plants at the door, ‘I hadn’t quite finished yet. I’ll be right back.’

And great hills, if King’s heart doesn’t just grow ten times bigger. 

~x~

They talk into the night. Ram’s words are spare but full of feeling, as always. King tries not to overflow, tries not to overwhelm and, for the most part, he succeeds. 

They break for dinner: King prepares the ingredients and Ram cooks. It’s peaceful and filled with rich spices, teasing touches, long looks and laughter. 

Before bed, King wanders the condo, personally greeting every plant. Ram was right: they had grown and he was proud of them, so proud of them all, but especially his _Streptocarpus sect. Saintpaulia_ that was finally flowering. He doesn’t realise he’s being watched until he turns towards his bedroom and finds Ram leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lips. King is drawn to him like a bee to  _ lavandula _ . King steps in close, face a mere breath from Ram’s. They watch each other for a moment. Then King tilts his head and brings his hand up to lightly caress Ram’s neck tattoo. The other man shivers and King can’t help but respond in kind, the quiver lingering at the base of his spine. Then Ram takes his chin between his fingers and King’s hand automatically cups Ram’s cheek. 

‘I like you, King.’ Ram murmurs. King’s heart thrums at his tone, the dropped honourifics, the  _ look _ in Ram’s eyes.

‘I like you, Ram.’ He likes the weight of Ram’s name on his tongue. He’ll always be King’s Cool Boy, but there’s definite delight in rolling Ram’s name in his mouth.

From his expression alone, Ram seems to agree. A sudden flare of heat skims across King’s skin, leaving goosebumps, and settles in a glowing pool in his belly. Then Ram tilts his chin and brings their lips together. And oh, King tastes mandarin and mint and  _ want want want _ . He presses into Ram, who’s hand slides from his jaw to cradle the back of his head. As the kiss builds and shifts, as their breath grows short and they move from the doorway into his room, King realises the tenderness remains. Passion and heat, want and need, yes, but always the underlying softness. 

King thinks he could quite happily kiss his Cool Boy for the rest of his life. After wasting so much time pointlessly worrying, he’s certainly going to make every moment count.

When they finally separate, laughter bubbles up in their chests. They rest their foreheads and breathe. 

Later, when King is already dozing in his bed, Ram returns from the shower lightly drying his hair. When he slips under the covers, King doesn’t hesitate to drape his arm across his stomach and rest his head on his chest. Ram’s arms fall about him and King can’t help but smile as the man tries to pull him, impossibly, just the slightest bit closer.

King dreams: of a bed of warm, humming clouds; of eyes like stars and lips like  _ nelumbo nucifera _ petals; of vetiver, sandalwood and jasmine. 

**Author's Note:**

> Helianthus - sunflower  
> Lavandula - lavender  
> Nelumbo nucifera - lotus
> 
> Eeeeep let me know if you liked it?! Any kudos or comments very appreciated!! Thank you so much for reading💚
> 
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